


Still Here

by grey_sw (grey)



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:30:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey/pseuds/grey_sw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garviel Loken still hears the voice of his lost brother Tarik.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prettymanly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettymanly/gifts).



"I hear him," Loken said.

Garro's eyes narrowed. "But you're not--"

"A psyker? No. But I heard Samus on Sixty-Three-Nineteen... and I hear Tarik now. He calls me." 

"All the more reason not to go." Garro shook his head. "Tarik Torgaddon is dead, Garviel. We buried him together on Isstvan III."

"Jubal was dead, too," Loken murmured. "Nero and I killed him ten times over before he fell." 

"That's different. Jubal was..."

"A monster?"

"A _daemon_."

Loken turned away. "Tarik told me something terrible had happened to him. Had been _done_ to him, after he died. He said..."

Garro watched him, saying nothing. At last, Loken's fists curled shut.

"He said I was the only one who could help him, Nathaniel. The only one. My brother is out there, somewhere. My brother has been corrupted, or summoned, or-- or something! My brother needs me..."

"Damn you and your brother!" Garro cried. Loken rounded on him, eyes wide with anger, but Garro went on. "Horus and his hounds are at the gate. We're still waiting on the Ultramarines, the Wolves, the Dark Angels... no. No! I need every one of you here, ready to drive back Lorgar's daemons and defend the Palace."

"I will be," Loken said. "I swear it. But I must do this first." He turned, as if to go, but Garro spoke again.

"You swore an oath to me, Captain. To Malcador the Sigillite, and to the Emperor himself. You swore to put our mission first, before all other matters of honor. Would you betray us now, at the last?"

Loken grew very still, still half-turned away. "I will never be an oath-breaker, Garro. Never. I swore to serve you before all matters of honor, yes... but this goes deeper than honor. Tarik and I were more than brothers, more than Mournival." He looked down at his own fist, still squeezed shut as if seeking a target. "We were... more."

"A convenient excuse for disloyalty."

"It's the truth," Loken said. "The Emperor's own truth, if you must hear me say it. I've-- we've _all_ lost everyone, everything. Nothing is left. If Tarik still exists I must find him. Please, my friend. You must allow me this one last chance."

"Mmm," Garro said to himself. It came out of his gorget as a low vox-rumble, short and blunt. Loken started to plead anew, but Garro lifted a hand to cut him off. "All right, Garvi. All right. You _did_ swear yourself to us... but Cerberus never did, so perhaps it is all right for _him_ to go."

Loken gaped at him for a moment, shocked into silence. Then he smiled, for the first time in many months.

"Yes. I am the wolfhound at the gates of Hell... and I will make the traitors rue the day they stole my brother from death's own door."

"Good hunting... and be quick," Garro told him. "We'll be waiting for you."

\---

It was not hard to get out of the Palace. Loken simply marched out of the Eternity Gate, chainsword and bolter by his side. To the left of him came three companies of Blood Angels, resplendent in crimson ceramite; they clashed their swords against their shields and growled oaths of retribution so violent that even Loken shook his head to hear them. To his right came hundreds of war-bikes in white and red livery. They roared out into the breach, trailing furs and chains and bright-sheathed tulwars, accompanied by a mad steppe-raiding song which only just sounded over the engines. At the fore rode a demigod: Jaghatai Khan, Primarch of the Fifth Legion, who had mounted the twin barrels of a Razorback tank just as if they were a saddle.

 _He looks even bigger than Horus, in all those furs,_ Loken thought. _Tarik would... Tarik would have loved to see this._

 _I would've, aye,_ a soft voice seemed to agree. _Always loved a good dust-up!_

The Loyalists emerged from the outer walls into Chaos. A boiling sea of red-splashed Astartes rolled over the trenches the Fists had cut into the Emperor's gardens. The roar of chainaxes filled the valley like the drone of a million bees as the World Eaters made their charge. Eaters of worlds they surely were, now, gone mad with hate -- Loken watched one of them turn and plunge his axe into the chest of another, laughing as bright gouts of his own brother's blood splashed over his armor. 

Blue and white they wore no longer, and now Loken knew why.

Beyond them were tens of thousands of Army regulars, fallen to the Warmaster's sway. They were little more than fodder for the front, grist for the guns; they would die the moment the Fists' artillery opened up, soaking up munitions so that the giants who walked among them could strike. Loken saw Night Lords in their lightning-clad armor, Emperor's Children who had defaced the Emperor's palatine eagle upon their chests, and even the Death Guard, Garro's old Legion. And the Sons of Horus, looming over the human armies in dull green colors which still made Garviel feel sick. 

On the horizon were tanks, guns, gunships; a hundred thousand barrels thrust at the sky. Great, semi-human shapes loomed over the battlefield -- Titans, the traitors had _Titans_! -- and around their feet scurried yet more Space Marines, made tiny by distance and comparative mass. Loken had never seen a larger force arrayed for action, not even at Isstvan; even the Triumph at Ullanor seemed insignificant next to this, the rejection of all the Triumph had ever stood for. 

The White Scars struck the first of the World Eaters with a crunch which must've heard all over Terra. Bikes revved, chainaxes fell. Brother struck down brother, and as the first blows fell there was a bright flash at the edge of the battle. Loken felt a sudden surge of nausea. The men standing all around him flinched visibly, even within their heavy plate; one of the Blood Angels covered his eyes with his gauntlet, as if unwilling to see. All around them, gateways opened from nowhere, leading to nothing... and monsters came out. 

A huge thing the color of bile floated out from between two Titans, stately as an auto-dirigible. It trailed long, thin tendrils which killed with a touch, melting men and women where they stood. Loken wouldn't look at it -- he _couldn't_ look at it -- so he turned away, only to see some stalking, birdlike thing take a bite out of a Dreadnought, crunching the Venerable Ancient within like a sweetmeat. Leaping, capering daemons poured from the Warp, tearing into the edges of the Loyalist army.

Another flash, this time from Loken's left, and time seemed to freeze. _Garvi, I'm coming,_ Tarik's voice howled. _Tormageddon comes for blood! For skulls!_

 _Brother, help me!_

Loken's weapons leapt into his hands. His targeting computer blazed to life, filling his helmet's lenses with data. A futile vox query blinked in the corner: `Luna Wolves, 2nd Company Captain, Tarik Torgaddon: Respond?`

It would never be answered. The thing Loken saw when he turned needed no vox to speak, no bolter to battle. It was twice the height of a Space Marine, yet still recognizably Astartes... but twisted, turned, corrupted. Its chest was as broad as a battletank, swathed in rust-red armor. Its claws were like those of a raptor, wrapped around the hilt of a chainsword as tall and wide as a man. Its boots had warped and split, revealing hooves the size of fifty-cal ammo cans, and each step burned the ground like sulphur. And its face... its face was Tarik's face, swollen in size, crowned by a great confusion of curling horns. 

"Blood!" it roared, through three rows of fangs. "Blood for the Blood God!"

Loken charged. Later, he would remember thinking nothing, nothing at all, but he would be wrong: the words that came to him then were _I will not bow to any fane, or acknowledge any spirit._ Beyond his brother's ruined form were Marines in grey armor. Word Bearers. Traitors. _Erebus._ They melted back into the battle like smoke, but Loken had seen them, and they were the final ingredient in a cauldron of rage which had been bubbling since before the drop to Isstvan. His humors slipped into perfect balance, his hatred so white-hot it drove out all feeling save cold, clinical vengeance.

The Tarik-beast stepped toward him, raising its sword. It was too big, too slow, too newly-born from the Warp, and Loken raced fearlessly into the fire which surrounded it. His armor scorched and burned, alarms blinking before him. He struck a blow with his chainsword, quick and precise, cutting deep into the beast's forearm. The great sword turned in its grip, falling. Loken looked up at it, searching for another opening, and met its eyes. Tarik's eyes, full of surprise and anger... and recognition. 

"Brother," it rumbled. "My brother, at last. You came."

"Tarik," Loken whispered. "You called me, and I came..."

"To die!" the demon roared. It charged, all claws and fangs, and Loken only barely managed to turn aside. He chopped down with his sword as Tarik passed him, scratching a long line in the beast's armor: a line of clean, smart white beneath the ugly red. Luna Wolf colors. 

"Look!" Loken shouted. "See who you are!"

"I am Tormageddon, scourge of worlds," the thing sneered, even as it looked down at itself. "I will smash this palace and pull your Emperor's feeble corpse from the wreckage. I will beat you in the cages, Garvi, just like Nero said! I will... I am..." The thing shook its head like a bull, swaying on its feet. Loken jumped on the opportunity.

"You are a Luna Wolf!" Loken cried! "You are my brother, you are Mournival! Luper..." But their Legion's cheer died on his lips. The image of Horus came unbidden to his mind, grinning his cruel, murderous grin, and the moment slipped away. 

The monster tossed its horns one last time, whipping perilously close to Loken's helmet. He took one step back, then another, but it was too late: Tormageddon had the measure of itself, and it struck out with a claw. Loken's move to guard was a touch too slow -- _just like in the practice cage_ \-- and his chainsword clattered away, lost in the maelstrom of war. He drew his bolter and fired, stitching a neat group of three rounds across the beast's breastplate. Each failed to penetrate, and Loken watched as they bloomed in harmless denotation. He raised the bolter higher, aiming for the head, but the image of Tarik's swollen face between his sights made him flinch. Another strike came, battering him back, smashing his weapon to the ground. Another, and his chestplate cracked, loud in his ears. He sought his footing to strike back, but something shifted beneath his boot just as the daemon bulled forward... and Garviel Loken fell. 

Tarik was on him instantly, bearing him down. He pushed back against the thing's claws, struggling like a wrestler, but the beast's strength was too great. He slid further, pressed down into the muck of Terra. Then he came to a jarring halt, wedged between two massive chainsword-teeth. It was the oversized sword Tarik had dropped earlier, but Tormageddon showed no desire to retrieve it; it seemed not to see the weapon at all. 

"You!" it bellowed. "You abandoned me! You let them take me!"

"What?" Loken gasped. "No, I tried to save you. I tried--"

"You _failed_ , Emperor's whoreson. All of you failed. Dead and gone. Skulls... for the skullthrone!" It lifted Loken in one hand and smashed him down again, battering him against the teeth of the sword. Loken felt something pop within him; his vision wavered for a moment, as his enhanced body dumped clotting agents and combat stimms into his bloodstream. He snapped his helmet forward, smashing the thing's forehead in a defiant headbutt, but its answering roar was deafening. One of its horns caught the corner of Loken's eyepiece and tore it out, splintering the ceramite. Loken reached up and hurled his own useless helmet away, leaving him bareheaded and bleeding.

"Skulls," the thing leered... but it did not strike. It was watching him, measuring him, with Tarik's laughing eyes.

"You always did have a flair for the dramatic, brother," Loken sighed.

"Brother," it repeated. "I had brothers, once. We were..."

"Brave?" 

The thing grinned at him. "I was going to say 'stupid'," it joked, just the way Tarik would have.

Loken laughed despite himself, and felt something give inside his chest. Another round of stimms hit him, and his fist flashed out -- almost of its own accord -- and struck Tarik hard across the face. The thing just laughed right back at him, with a voice like grinding bones.

"Everything dies, Garvi. Everything. I've seen it. Our brothers die. I die, you die, Horus dies, the Emperor dies... All is death. Chaos... is death." Tarik was still laughing, as though he'd told a particularly good joke. Loken supposed he had.

"Only in death does duty end," Loken said.

Tarik grimaced, showing his teeth. His great claws closed around Loken's wrists, cracking his gauntlets. "I always hated that straight-laced shit," he said. "Is it over yet, Garvi? Is it over for _me_?"

"It will be," Loken promised. "I swear it. If you only let me--"

"No!" Tarik roared. He lifted Loken and smashed him down again, but not before Loken drew his final weapon: his combat knife. He drove it up against the demon's armor, once, twice, and again. It slipped aside each time, scraping fat flakes of red away from the Luna Wolves' colors. 

"Die!" Tarik snarled. "Just die! All dead, all gone..."

"No," Loken promised. He looked up into the daemon's eyes, filled as they were with rage. "I am Garviel Loken of the Emperor's own Luna Wolves, and _I'm still here._ " He thrust again with his knife, and this time the monomolecular blade caught against Tarik's twisted armor. He wrapped both hands around the hilt and pushed with all his enhanced might, desperate to bring his friend peace, but it was not enough. The armor was too thick, and his strength too little... just as his speed has been on Isstvan, as Little Horus brought his deathblow down. Then Tarik's claws curled around his gauntlets, _through_ his gauntlets, sinking deep into his flesh. 

"Die," he repeated.

"I love you, Tarik," Loken gasped, speaking his last words. "My brother. I miss you. I'm sorry..."

"No more," the daemon grated. "No more. Goodbye, Garvi."

Garviel stabbed one last time, with determined strength. He squeezed his eyes shut, shouted, drew on memory and loyalty. Slowly, inch by inch, the blade slipped into Tarik's armor. Garvi could feel the might in Tarik's huge claw as it tightened over his hands, pulling the knife even deeper, closer still. Like a friend or a lover, someone dear. 

"Are you... with me?" Garvi asked, his brow furrowed. The demon's eyes were wide and grey, like Tarik's... or Horus'.

"Always," Tarik answered.

The knife slid in deep and slow, with both their hands locked around it. Loken felt an instant's resistance, then, before it pushed all the way into the thing's foul heart, into the part of Tarik that Erebus had stolen to summon him. As it did Garviel felt his brother by his side, as if they were together again: standing with the Mournival, laughing in the mess hall, curled against one another in a trench on some nameless, worthless planet. Then the daemon gave a great, heaving sigh, and came apart: first as fire, then smoke, then an actinic smear of light. It danced above Garviel for an instant, as if saying goodbye -- or laughing at him -- and then it grew thin and pale, and vanished.

The sounds of the battle reached Loken's ears once more, as if the presence of his broken brother had driven them away. He looked around, stunned by the sudden rush of color and ferocity. The World Eaters were all around him, tearing at Blood Angels who seemed scarcely less feral, their teeth bared like fangs. Upon the battlements, hundreds of Imperial Fists fired bolters and heavy weapons down into the crowd, as the Primarch Sanguinius, winged and perfect, dashed his enemies to pieces below. Loken could not see Rogal Dorn, nor the peerless Khan, but he knew they must be near, fighting to hold the palace at the end of days. 

Loken spared a final glance at the place where his brother had fallen, but there was nothing left but a massive, bloody chainsword, already beginning to rust away. Then he nodded, pried his broken fingers off the hilt of his knife, and went in search of his Knight-Errant brothers, as he had sworn to do.

_Goodbye, Tarik._

**Author's Note:**

> It's a little hard to do proper fix-it-fic in the grim darkness of the far future, but I hope this fits the bill -- I love this pairing, hope I did them justice. Thanks for the wonderful prompt!


End file.
